The night wore on and wound down without much more incident. When Cass eventually climbed down from her podium she felt like she’d run a marathon in Death Valley and headed straight for the bar. There was a stool next to her ally; she didn’t wait for an invitation.
‘The name’s Liam,’ he said. ‘Liam Kenny.’ His voice was deep and warm, like it came from somewhere deep in the heart of the earth. His accent was soft velvet, the emerald-green variety.
‘I’m…Sylvana,’ she replied, dangerously close to giving her real name.
She looked at Liam Kenny close-to for the first time. There may have been a few bumps on his face and a tiny scar above his right eye, but the guy was still breathtaking. He was built like a human rock. The Irish Sea had crafted a thing of beauty when it carved out his face and the eyes that gazed back at her were like blue magnets.
‘Is it a brandy you want?’ he asked. She looked at his glass.
‘I think I’ll have one of those,’ she replied. ‘That’s thirsty shit I do up there.’
He signalled for more drinks; the barman duly obliged. There seemed to be more metal in his face than ever, the spiky piercing giving him the look of a horny reptile.
‘Hey honey,’ she said, leaning across and squeezing his arm. ‘Thanks for earlier.’ Clinton gave her a wink. She tapped glasses with Liam and took a long drink of the dark liquid, nodding her approval afterwards. ‘I could get to like this.’
‘It’s the basis of all that’s good in the world,’ replied Liam, following suit. ‘Am I allowed to ask a question?’
‘You can ask anything you like,’ she replied. ‘I’ll choose whether or not I want to answer.’
‘What did laughing boy and his gang of shaven morons want with you earlier on?’
‘Beats me,’ she replied. ‘I think I might like a brandy to go with this. What about you?’
‘What the hell.’ He signalled to Clinton again and ordered two brandy chasers. ‘They certainly had some kind of beef with you.’
‘Maybe they just don’t like girls.’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard there’s a lot of that sort of thing in Soho.’
The shots arrived. Once again, they were on the house.
‘There’s some bad politics going down round here at the moment,’ she said. ‘Fascist shit. It probably doesn’t affect the likes of you, white boy.’
Liam looked offended.
‘You’re kidding me aren’t you,’ he said. ‘I’m an Irishman remember. Who was it said the Irish are the blacks of Europe?’
‘Someone with more romance than brains,’ she replied. ‘It’s my turn to ask one now.’ She knocked her brandy back, savouring the hot buzz in her throat after the cool stout.
‘Fire away.’
‘What’s with you and Cal Henson?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because you obviously know the guy quite well,’ she replied. ‘And you sure as hell don’t fit in here.’
‘Well you’d be right there,’ he said, wistfully. She followed Liam’s ice blue eyes, as he peered around the room at the spilt drink, vomit and human debris. ‘Let’s just say Henson and me go back a way and we’ve got some unfinished business. When that’s done, you won’t see me in this dump again.’
‘Cal Henson’s well connected around here isn’t he?’ she asked, hoping the answer was yes.
‘He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies alright,’ replied Liam. ‘There’s not a lot goes on in Soho without him knowing about it.’ He looked at her. ‘Why all the interest in Henson?’
‘I’m just curious,’ she replied. ‘So where will you go when you’re through here?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve got family here and back over in Ireland, but we don’t get on so well these days.’
‘Tell me about them.’
‘Well,’ said Liam, pausing for thought. ‘I was one of seven. All of us crammed into a two-bedroom flat in Kilburn.’
‘Sounds cosy.’
‘Like a rugby scrum. We had an old man who got drunk every day and beat us black and blue every night.’
‘At least you were loved honey.’
‘If you like rough love.’
‘My favourite kind.’
The DJ began playing something funereal by The Cure; his way of grinding proceedings to a halt.
‘How about you Sylvana?’ asked Liam. ‘Any family?’
‘None,’ she replied. ‘I was brought up in care mostly. I never knew my dad and my mother died when I was fourteen.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What the hell have you got to be sorry for?’
Cass felt something stir inside her as she spoke, unlike anything she’d felt in a long time; for once she felt like a human being and not a fighting machine.
‘Can I walk you anywhere Sylvana?’ he asked.
‘Do I look like I need a bloody guardian?’
He shrugged and laughed. He had a beautiful mouth; she wanted that mouth more than anything right now.
‘Jeez, you London girls are awfully independent,’ he said. ‘It’s such an appealing trait.’
She took him by the hand and said:
‘Shut up and let’s get the hell out of here.’
They drifted out onto Berwick Street, where the smells and sounds of another Soho night embraced them like a wayward mother. Without speaking they wandered round to Old Compton Street then onto Dean Street, past the hoards of revellers flooding in and out of the old brown buildings, whose walls had witnessed so much.
A rickshaw rode by reminding Cass that she still had to find a different way of getting to Barry Leonard. She might be clutching at straws, but if Cal Henson knew Leonard, she might have a way of getting to the dealer. She’d have to talk to Henson at some point; sound him out. Life was a bitch. Life was short. She looked at Liam, grabbed him by his thick black hair and kissed him hard. She took him by surprise, but he soon got the drift. He tasted of Guinness; she was getting a real liking for that taste. She asked him:
‘Have you got a place nearby?’
He shook his head.
‘I’ve been staying on a mate’s settee in Kilburn.’
‘Just my goddamned luck,’ she thought. She had to fall for a homeless ex-con. To hell with that. To hell with everything. She wanted him now and that was that.
‘Come with me,’ she said, as she took him by the hand and led him round to St Anne’s Court. This may have been a wrong turn, but she didn’t feel like she was even in the driving seat anymore.
19
You couldn’t describe it as romantic: scuffed knees on wooden floorboards, the pungent odour of damp rot, scurrying sounds from behind the wall-panelling. But, when Cass left that flat, she had the biggest glow she’d felt in a long time. Liam was a powerhouse; rock-firm, gentle and vigorous in equal measures. She rode a twenty-minute wave of pleasure for all it was worth, before easing down along side him, right above the spot where the loaded gun was hidden. Afterwards they lay in silence, a hazy moon brightening through the long window, spreading a blanket of soft yellow across their hot skin.
The Soho night had taken a mellower turn, as they drifted out and wandered into near-deserted Chinatown, where the smell of fried bird still ebbed away in the haze, as the metal shutters came down on the rows of glossy carcasses parading in the windows.
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ asked Liam, taking nothing for granted. An ageing tramp waddled between them and made for the sanctuary of a restaurant doorway. They watched the old man, who could barely walk, slide down the wall and almost immediately descend into a drunken sleep.
‘Not tomorrow,’ she replied. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way honey, but you may be as well not to expect too much from me. In fact expecting anything’s a mistake.’
Cass’s shutters were also on their way down. She wasn’t sorry she’d had a scene with Liam, even if she had blown the location of the flat. He was more than worth the risk, but his question came as quite a reality check.
; ‘I understand,’ said Liam. He may have had the strength of a bull, but it was a fragile look reflecting off his blue eyes in the yellow streetlight.
‘I doubt it,’ said Cass. ‘But I’m not discussing it right now. I’ll be at the club tomorrow, but I might not be so communicative. I’d appreciate you’re not pushing that any.’
Up against the ropes or not, Liam wasn’t ready to throw in the towel.
‘Look, Sylvana’ he said, taking hold of her arms. ‘This business I’ve got with Henson, it’ll be sorted in a day or two. I’ll have money then, a fair amount, and I’ll be getting the hell out of here. If you want to take a break from all this crap and join me…’
‘This isn’t the time Liam,’ she interrupted. ‘Trust me, I’m not worth it. I’m bad news. Do yourself a favour and stay away.’
With that she walked off into the Leicester Square crowds, leaving Liam to wonder exactly what the hell just hit him.
Cal Henson and Barry Leonard were still playing heavily on her mind, when Cass arrived back in Earls Court. An argument had broken out outside the hotel, where an anorexic whore was trading violent obscenities with a toothless Glaswegian. He was trying to pay her off with a Scottish five pound note; she refused to believe the money was real. Other deadbeats were randomly taking sides in the dispute, chipping in with their own inane contributions. The argument fell silent when Cass passed by then started up again with a vengeance. She knew the cops would be sniffing around before long.
The Sun Hotel was a little too much like prison for Cass’s liking. For the past decade she’d spent her life in giant rabbit hutches, packed to the rafters with wayward souls and broken lives; oppressive tiny rooms full of the abused and the distraught, the dysfunctional and the displaced. Institutionalised life stank and she hated it. Liam had the right idea. Get out of this dung heap and don’t come back.
Marcella was still awake when Cass arrived back at the room. She was lying on her bed, bottle of tequila in hand, watching a late night trash talk show.
‘I’ve got bad news about Barry Leonard honey,’ said Cass.
‘What do you mean?’
Marcella turned the television off and offered her the bottle. Cass took a slug, before giving her the lowdown. She didn’t tell her about Liam Kenny or what had just happened at the squat. That was a complication too far and they already had enough to occupy their minds. By the time they’d chewed the matter over, the bottle was dry and another had been opened.
‘I can’t believe that bastard Leonard’s changed sides,’ said Marcella. ‘He used to have girls hanging all over him in the old days.’
‘Probably just window dressing.’
‘Maybe he swings it either way.’
‘Not from where I was standing honey. He looked the full ticket.’
They lay back on their beds and tried to think, a task made harder by the fact that a chorus of “Scotland the brave” had broken out in the street outside, where the currency argument was still raging.
‘So where the hell do we go from here?’ asked Marcella. ‘Jack Thorne’s ready to bite any time. I’ve got that sucker on a piece of string.’
‘I say we go for Saturday night,’ replied Cass. ‘We get those mother-fuckers to the squat, we do this thing and we get on with our lives.’
‘What about Leonard?’
‘Don’t worry honey. I’ll get Leonard there for you, if I have to drag him by his pink triangle.’ Cass took another long slug of tequila and wandered over to the window. The contretemps in the street had descended into a full-scale brawl. A van rolled up and the police started heaving bodies into the back. The sight of a police van brought back uncomfortable memories for Cass. She pulled the curtains closed.
‘If “Sylvana” doesn’t light Barry Leonard’s candle,’ she said, nodding to herself. ‘Well, maybe we just have to find something else he wants badly.’
‘How do you mean?’
Cass turned back to Marcella.
‘Leonard’s a dealer isn’t he? Poor old Candice said he was greedy and ambitious, always trying to suck up to the local mob.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got a plan B girl.’
‘Leave it with me honey. I’ll start by talking to Cal Henson tomorrow.’
20
Friday
The Alley Cat was like a black hole when Cass arrived that afternoon. A Polish cleaner let her in, before being swallowed up by the darkness of the cloakroom. Without the lights, music and people, the club felt like Cass figured outer space might feel; overwhelmingly black, deathly silent and void of life or feeling. When her eyes had adjusted, the empty rooms looked smaller. The air tasted rank and the floors were still in bad need of a hosing down after the previous nights’ spillages and emissions. The high heels on her boots clipped and echoed around the walls of the dance floor, as she made her way through to the staircase that led to Henson’s office.
Once upstairs she heard muffled voices from inside the room. She knocked, the voices stopped and the door was opened by the head bouncer, Eric, whose boss was sitting behind a mahogany desk. Henson’s dress-sense was something else apparently lost in the time-space continuum. He was wearing a lime-green suit and a tartan neckerchief, his red hair set in an immaculate side-parting. He looked utterly ridiculous. A substantial amount of bank notes lay in overlapping piles before him.
‘And what pray tell do I owe this honour?’ he asked, making no attempt to move the money. He was parading his cash before her. Cass smiled to herself. She figured all guys had to show off somehow. It made her appreciate the ones who didn’t; or at least the ones who didn’t have to. Like Liam.
‘I’d like a word,’ she replied.
‘Go ahead.’
‘In private.’
‘But Eric here is my eyes and ears, the very cornerstone of my business empire.’
She looked at Eric. He was built like a truck and his face was as flat as any she had ever seen.
‘I can see why,’ she replied, giving Eric a smile. He grinned back. ‘Behind every great man there’s usually a much bigger man. But if the missing link here could give us five minutes I’d be grateful. You can always fill him in on our conversation afterwards.’
Henson’s eyes moved across to the now confused Eric. He gave the bouncer a slight nod. Eric did as he was asked and closed the door behind him.
The office was small and simple, with just enough room for the desk and a matching drinks cabinet. Behind Henson was a small black safe. He pushed his wads of notes to one side and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. She sat down. It felt like she was here for a job interview. Henson eyed her with the same degree of smugness she had endured at their first meeting. They weighed each other up for a few seconds before speaking.
‘I’ve come to ask you a question,’ said Cass. ‘And depending on the answer, maybe to make you an offer.’
‘I thought you just wanted to dance on my podium,’ he replied mockingly.
‘You’ve been around this area for some time,’ she said. ‘You know what goes on and who makes it go on.’
‘I keep my ear to the ground, or at least Eric does so for me.’
‘Do you know a local dealer called Barry Leonard?’
Henson’s eyes narrowed; not a pretty sight. They were small and unpleasant enough already.
‘What if I do?’
‘Do you know him? Because if the answer’s no, this conversation can take an early bath.’
Henson paused before answering; his curiosity was palpable.
‘I might do.’
‘Is he a friend of yours?’
Cass knew plenty of dealing went on at The Alley Cat. For all she knew Barry Leonard’s stooges could have had Henson’s okay to work the joint. She was taking a big chance. The plan could be blown if Henson and Leonard were in cahoots.
‘Hardly,’ replied Henson. ‘The little shit’s tried to plant his dealers on my premises on a number of occasions. The last one who tried to sell drugs in here was take
n for a little ride in his rickshaw by Eric. Very nasty business. Terribly messy. He’s never been seen since.’
‘And no one deals in here unless they have your say-so and you get a percentage?’
‘Something like that, yes,’ he chuckled. ‘What’s Barry Leonard to you, Sylvana?’
‘I know someone who wants Leonard out of the way.’
‘Interesting,’ said Henson, raising an eyebrow. ‘And what precisely has that to do with me?’
‘They want to get Leonard to a certain place at a certain time, not far from here. They need an angle to get him there.’
‘And you think I can do that?’
‘I don’t know for sure, but I’d lay odds that you could make the wheels turn, if something good rolled your way at the same time.’
The satisfaction oozed out of Henson’s face. He revelled in the feeling of control, but right now Cass figured she had no choice but to put the ball in his court and see if he wanted to play.
‘You talked about an offer, as well as a question,’ he said, stroking his chin.
‘If you cooperate on this, I’ll owe you a favour,’ she replied. ‘Believe me, that’s something worth having. I can be very useful.’
She made the statement in such a way that Henson wouldn’t think sex was on offer. Her tone seemed to work. She wasn’t sure Henson had it in him anyway.
‘Oh I’m already aware of that much,’ he replied, leaning across his desk. ‘Don’t think I didn’t witness your little display last night.’ He nodded at a trio of TV screens up on the wall behind where she was sitting. ‘You’re like a one-woman army.’
‘If you’re sore about that dancer, she can have her spot back as soon as her leg’s fixed.’
‘Not at all. I rather admired your entrepreneurial spirit in dealing with that silly little cow.’
‘So do you have anything on Leonard,’ she asked. ‘Or am I just killing valuable time here?’ The dance had gone on long enough. Cass was keen to stop pirouetting around and hit the final mark.
My Bloody Alibi Page 5